WELCOME

This is my blog (now there is a surprise!). I will be sticking in it poetry, prose, random musings, things that take my fancy and more than likely lots of pictures of cats. I hope you find something to amuse and/or interest you here.

Wednesday, 18 May 2011

It's Wednesday again so here is another work for One Shot Wednesday. Unusually for me, its freestyle poetry.
Why not pop over tohttp://onestoppoetry.com/and read some other peoples work?

I have a broken mind, my paralyzed grip no longer controls the dark emotions spewing forth from the bowels of my soul where festering sins erupt letting forth the stench of rotten deeds. You see the outward signs, the tears and anger bursting forth, noxious gases vented from the pitch-black, rancid puddle filling my mind and fouling my thoughts. A viscous slurry of septic dreams drowning unbirthed beneath the weight of turgid doubts and misery. So hopes rise briefly like bubbles on the boiling acid of self-directed spite and burst in the cold air of reality, to fade again into the bleak morass as tidal pull drags me back down.

If you noticed my abscence yesterday, I was struck down by a sotmach bug. I am still wobbly and can't eat anything but at least I can not keep water down.

When I moved into my new house, eighteen months ago, I was aware that there were two trees in the garden which needed attention. One tree was frankly dangerous as it dropped hugh limbs everytime the wind was strong. The second looked okay but I wanted it checked out. Some branches were close to my neighbours properties.

So I did my research and found a good local tree surgeon. Well, actually, a team of them since it was too big a job for one man. Two thousand five hundred pounds late, the trees were trimmed, safe and thinned out. My neighbours said they were happy as the tree surgeons and I had consulted them while the work was being done. This had resulded in work being done on a third, smaller, tree to stop it overhanging the neighbours fence.

So for a year, everyone was happy.

Then on Sunday, my neighbour called to me over the fence to complain about the tree nearest the house. She now demands that I have it taken down completely. And why is this? Not because the tree is dangerous. not even because it is blocking her light. No, she wants it down because it sheds leaves onto her patio and because pigeons sit in it an make a mess on her patio,

Now it may be me, but it seems that by trying to be a good neighbour I have become a bad neighbour. if I had done nothing about the trees, my neighbours would probably have grumbled amonst themselves and never mentioned it to me. Since I had work done, I have become the villain for refusing to finish the job properly in their eyes.

I refuse to cut down a tree that is perfectly health and between fifty and eighty years old just because it is mildly inconvenient to a couple of people who haven't been here half as long.

So then I get accused of attracting mice because I feed the birds and my neighbour saw a mouse in her garden. Now I store my birdseed in mouseproof containers. And I have three cats, who often bring me mice. They tend to discourage mice from nesting in my garden. Also, these are proper little field mice, the tiny brown ones with the long tails. They are not a major threat to health and don't tend to infest houses. However, the field near the river by us has been recently receiving a makeover which has temporarily damaged some of the mice's feeding grounds, hence they are questing further for food than in previous years. Now the work to make the field a protacted habitat is complete, I expect the mice to swiftly return to their normal living area, and, in fact, it has been over a week since my cats last bought me a mouse.

However, I am now being threatened with being reported to the council and environmental health people.

Sunday, 8 May 2011

It is not Mother's Day here in England, we celebrate it earlier in the year. I nearly didn't join in with today's challenge but I thought of this sonnet when looking at Dodge's Prompt, so here it is.
To explain a bit, my mother was trying to raise four kids in a three bedroomed house on very small income while also coping with an emotionally-abusive husband and an ailing, emotionally-abusive mother of her own who lived with us. Gran and Dad hated each other and both resented the time Mum spent with us kids. At the same time, she was gradually losing her sight.

Thursday, 5 May 2011

I apologise to everyone for my lack of activity yesterday. I got a virus on my laptop and didn't dare use it until I had cleaned it out, I did not want to hand it round, hence my lack of visits.

JL, I am a day late but hopefully still acceptable!

These prompts are from Dodge writes
and also a response to http://www.threewordwednesday.com/ whose words are:Grace; noun: Simple elegance or refinement of movement; (in Christian belief) the free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings; verb: Do honor or credit to (someone or something) by one's presence.

Thin; adjective: Having opposite surfaces or sides close together; of little thickness or depth; (of a person) having little, or too little, flesh or fat on their body; having few parts or members relative to the area covered or filled; sparse. andhttp://write-a-letter-wednesday.blogspot.com/This week's Write A Letter Wednesday prompt is to write a letter to someone telling them about where you live and why you like it... or why you don't!

About Me

Okay folks. A bit more about me.
I am the youngest of four. My eldest brother is 17 years older than me, my sister 6 years older and the younger of my brothers was 5 years older. He, Colin, committed suicide when he was 35 after his ex-wife took their children to Australia and he lost touch.
I was born and brought up un a little village that would probably be called a suburb these days. Called Gonerby Hill Foot it is at the foot of the hill betweek the towns of Gonerby (pronounced Gunnerby) and Grantham. You may have heard of Grantham. A woman by the name of Margaret Roberts was born there. She went on to marry Dennis Thatcher and become the first woman Prime Minister of the UK.
My father picked my first name and named me after his favourite ship in the Navy, the HMS Penelope. I kept telling him he got it the wrong way round, you are supposed to name ships after daughters not daughters after ships. I suppose I should just be grateful he wasn't on the Ark Royal.
I lived and worked in Grantham apart from a brief year at York University, until work sent me to Coventry. Literally.